


Reach for the stars

by Oaklin



Category: Professional Wrestling, 新日本プロレス | New Japan Pro-Wrestling
Genre: (I'll stop meta-ing in the tags now), (and isn't THAT just going to be a mess), (especially if poor Okada does the job), (except in so far as Okada reminds Kenny of the worst parts of himself), (i could meta about the parallels all day but they are all pretty obvious i think), (that has mostly nothing to do with Dominion), Angst, Dominion lead up, Fluff and Angst, Golden Lovers, Hugs, Kayfabe Compliant, Kenny still has some baggage, M/M, Nightmares, Swearing, They are dealing with it slowly, Typical Kenny Omega Bullshit, a tiny bit of romance at the end, because the old wounds don't just disappear even when you do the Right Thing, dick!Omega, mostly of the hurt/comfort kind, not-quite-so-stupid!Kenny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 21:30:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14881568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oaklin/pseuds/Oaklin
Summary: Kenny contemplates his upcoming bout in an odd, unexpected way.Okada and him have more in common than either of them would like to admit.





	Reach for the stars

**Author's Note:**

> Cliché title is the most cliché thing ever. I like it, personally. Only problem is I bet that there are a million Golden Lovers fics titled that.
> 
> Fair warning, this has nothing to do with anything, other than the fact that it takes place sometime last week. Other than that, this just me jibber-jabbering away about all these fucking Golden Lovers feels that refuse to leave me alone. I swear, these two will be the death of me.
> 
> Anyway, I don't even go here, but have some semi-angst semi-floofy surprisingly-not-lewd fic (unless you count the nuzzling, but he has The Sads, so that doesn't count. It was a comfort thing, not a smex thing) Consider it a Happy Golden Lovers Day present (which it still is. it is until I say is isn't anymore)

His body aches.

Why…

He reaches blindly for the ropes, but they aren’t there for some reason and he panics, lashing out blindly towards his… opponent?

Who is he fighting?

Where…

He struggles away from the oppressive presence in the ring with him (whatever it is, he is not sure exactly) and tries to get his bearings. There are lights, and sounds, the crowd a strange, amorphous blob, so either his vision is blurry or they are stuck in some sort of nightmare Kojima masterpiece. Their roar is weird too, not at all like a typical japanese crowd, even considering their love for him. They sound so.. far away, as if the arena is…

Are they in the Tokyo Dome? No…

“Osaka-Jo,” He whispers, more to himself than to anyone in particular. Not that anyone would be able to hear him over the raucous cacophony anyway. He can barely hear himself, the words getting swallowed up by the rushing in his ears and the strain of his nerves, until he is unsure if he actually spoke in the first place.

What the hell is happening?

The presence is back, bearing down on him unpleasantly. He has an idea of where he is now though, and a bit of his awareness back. No time to wonder what happened, or exactly how hard he must have hit his head to have completely forgotten where he was. He turns, coming out swinging, ready to-

“Oh.”

Wait.

“What?”

The sound in the arena changes, going very quiet, and then building, a slow, monotonous drone that makes his ears hurt along with the rest of his body. He can’t take the time to properly appreciate the change though, as the reveal of his opponent has him staring slack jawed and mystified.

“Huh. Okay, question; **_What the fuck.”_ **

It is all that he can think to say in the moment, all of his snappy comebacks abandoning him in the face of this particular bit of madness. What is the proper reaction, when one finds themselves standing in a wrestling ring, face to face with their own reflection?

Goddamn. There is something beautifully poetic in there somewhere, and something nudges the back of his mind, something familiar and deja-vu-ish, as if he has been here before, or will be here soon again.

Which.

Wait.

He **will** be here soon. In fact, this isn’t even…

It’s supposed to be Okada. That is who he fights at Dominion. It’s who he has fought before, and who he will fight again. He is sure of those two things, even as his brain struggles to make sense out of the bizarre happenings around him. The pieces are all there, and he knows that they make a complete picture, but something is off and he can’t jam them together in his befuddled, confused state.

“Wait-”

No waiting it seems. The- _whoever_ \- **fuck.** He ducks, dodging to the side as- goddamn it, **_his opponent_ ** attacks with a fervor that seems very out of place, but probably only because his brain cannot actually really understand what is happening or why. The Other Him makes no sound as he moves, which is weird, and the eyes are _wrong,_ not a sharp blue, but a lifeless gray that is almost white, unhappiness and dark circles making the malicious glint in their depths all the brighter.

“Okay. Not the weirdest- well, yeah. This is the weirdest thing that has ever happened to me. That’s including anything involving Dino. I wish-” It seems that The Other Him has no patience for witty banter, lunging forward and tripping him up. Being met with a strength that not only matches your own, but is familiar on a molecular level, is a very unpleasant experience, and he fights away with a vigor that is fueled more by creeped-out-ness than any kind of fear of losing the match.

Why is he fighting himself at Osaka-Jo Hall again?

Not that this _thing_ can actually be…

The universe, perhaps just in an effort to prove that it really is him, takes advantage of his lack of focus. The Other Him moves in swiftly, all vicious grace and precise brutality.

There is something off though, something strange in the way The Other Him moves. It’s a little too fast, with not enough control. It’s a lot of raw power, with no purpose to channel it through. The drive and determination and ambition is there, but it’s not directed at anything, or well, that is inaccurate. Rather, it is directed at whatever happens to be in front of this feral version of himself. Anything in his way, wrecked without remorse or regret, with a smirk and a cheesy one-liner.

He finds that it is not so nice, being on the receiving end of his own assholery.

The rabid thing tries to take him down and he is not prepared for it in his confused state. The two of them struggle, until he gets The Other Him to lock up properly, mostly so he can get a good look at whatever the fuck is going on with those soulless eyes.

Oddly, as he studies the strange, life less depths, The Other Him stops struggling against him. He falls forward a bit in surprise, stumbling before he rights himself. The Other Him backs away, as if the eye contact gave him an electric shock, the first sound coming from his silent form. He blinks, listening to some weird alternate version of himself hiss in response to simple eye contact, The Other him scuttling backwards like he had been burned.

“Oh no you don’t. You started this.”

He spins him(self?) around, going sharp and satisfying, the crack of his back hitting the mat bringing him at least a little joy in this nightmare world. The suplex causes a spike in the weird rumble of the crowd, like a pale imitation of a pop for his usual Dragons, though he has a hard time noticing, as he is too busy shoving The Other Him off, grumbling as he spits dark, ratty looking curls out of his mouth.

No wonder Bussan gently bitched about his hair for weeks, before-

Ah.

Oh.

Okay then.

“Is this really necessary?” He asks out loud, to no one. There is, of course, no one to answer him, because this is clearly a dream, he has no idea why it took him so long to figure that out. He is not actually at Osaka-Jo at all. Dominion isn’t for another week.

He is at home, having no doubt spent all day preparing for his match with Okada at the real version of this prestigious arena, having a very weird existential crisis dream about fighting the worst parts of himself.

Excellent.

“Man, I wish Ibushi was here. He would fucking laugh his ass off at my dramatics. Or,” He scrunches up his face, contemplating. “No, he probably wouldn’t. He would most likely cry. Maybe I won’t be telling him about this particular nightmare, when I wake up.”

That seems to trigger a reaction other than disgust and anger from the pathetic ball of self loathing and angst crouched on the mat. Which makes sense, as even at his worst, Ibushi’s name not-so-discreetly had an explosive impact on him. He watches, curious in a sort of detached, pitying way, as the sad sack on the mat shivers, flinching like the very utterance of that name is a bucket of icy, painful truth to a severely burned soul.

“Don’t.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair, wondering how worthwhile even having this conversation would be (a conversation that he has pointedly _not_ been having for a very long time, not that it would matter at this point anyway) and hoping that he can wake up soon.

Any time now.

“You’ve got to get over it. He already has. Well, I guess he is trying to. Don’t you want to make that easier, not harder on him, at least? After all you have done?”

Maybe reasoning with his own rejected, self inflicted abandonment issues and damaged pride would be the best course of action in this scenario.

Not like he has anything better to do.

“Don’t deserve it.”

The voice isn’t hollow and lifeless like the eyes. The voice is harsh and cutting, slicing through him as if this is real, as if he is hearing these things said to his face and not in some conjured reality in his mind. Perhaps because that is how he will always feel, somewhere deep inside of himself, how he has always felt.

He always was his own worst enemy.

“No, you don’t. Never will.”

He shouldn't say those things, even here. He glances around, despite himself. He knows Ibushi isn’t here, can’t be here (Ibu-tan lives always in his brain, he took up residence there long ago, but never in these dark parts. even in his mind, Ibushi is the best part of him) but he can’t help but feel bad. If he said those things out loud, it would make his partner sad, and they would have to have another one of those horrible, unpleasantly raw conversations. He doesn’t think he can handle another one of those just yet, although he is sure that they will have to have more in the future.

Doesn’t mean he has to like it, and it doesn't mean that the feelings will go away overnight.

Unfortunately.

And shit, now he is spiraling. Not a good place to be mentally, especially not when he is this close to Dominion. He closes his eyes, willing this murky hellscape away, wanting nothing more than to wake up in his own bed, Bu-san snoring away where he had fallen asleep cleaning the kitchen counters last night, the warmth of his body too far away but still _real_ and **tangible** and everything that his own fucked up headspace is **_not._ **

“Tore yourself down to get away from him, now you're burdening him with your reconstruction. Not worth it.”

Ah. Okay, he had thought that he had gotten mostly over all his little insecurities. That most of them were, if not dealt with, then manageable. Turns out, that there are still at least a few left, and this particular one hits him hard enough in several places to cause actual pain.

Which is ridiculous, because that isn’t even true.

Mostly.

“It’s not his job to build anything. That’s on me. When you love someone, you want to help them though, and I’m not going to say no to the support- you know what? Why am I trying to justify myself to you...me… whatever. Goddamnit.”

It doesn’t seem to matter, as the world is getting fuzzy, the crowd’s rumble turning into a whine that slowly warbles along, like a child’s toy with a dying battery. His vision is swimming again, and he closes his eyes against the sight, a slightly nauseous feeling gnawing at him as he sways in the ring that isn’t actually there.

“You’re right. It doesn’t matter. You are too late anyway.”

And there is another rough patch, apparently. He breaths in harshly, something jagged and primal rattling around in his chest as those awful words echo around the inside of his skull. He fights against the internal voice telling him that there is a valid point there, that he is, was and always will be far too late for anything resembling the future he has been dreaming about since he was some dumbass twenty something, watching youtube videos on his best friends couch.

Story of his life. It never dawned on him, until he was years worth of great matches in, acclaims and awards and internet infamy. A stable to lead, titles to hold, even a makeshift family to call his own. It was never enough, and he always, always knew why. Even when he pretended (badly) that he didn’t.

Not that it mattered. He learned too late, too far from home and lost in the forgotten promises of their yesteryears (always leaving him behind) there was only ever going to be one thing that made him whole in a way that nothing else could. After all that time and all their struggles (the very soul in his body) it had dawned on him.

So late.

Too late.

“You are always too late.”

He is. Goddamn it, he is. Terminally late, and terminally foolish.

“I wouldn’t say that. I’ve never thought you were foolish exactly. Just a bit stubborn.”

Wait, that-

“Kenny. You did say you wanted me to wake you up at five, right?”

Oh. **That** kind of late.

“Oh fuck, am I happy to hear _your_ voice. Can I have a hug, **_please?”_ **

Kenny reaches out blindly, before he realises that while he hated looking at everything in his mind just moments ago, he really, really wants to see Kota’s beautiful face right now. Perhaps more that he has ever wanted to see him (that is not true. three years is a long time)

“Yes? You don’t need to ask for- oof.”

Kenny eases up just a bit, trying not to squish Ibushi to the bed. “Sorry. Had a Really Bad Dream.”

It must still be in his voice, because Kota stiffens a bit under him, a hand pressing against Kenny’s sternum and pushing him back a bit. Kenny braces himself and makes eye contact, the action filling him with pride and joy, where once (and maybe still a little, somewhere in the back of his head) there was only pain and shame.

Still, he is not excited to have this conversation.

“Are you okay?” is all Kota asks, his voice soft and full of that precious concern and love that Kenny ached for, for so long. Kenny relaxes, slumping his weight down again, relief and exhaustion flooding him at the gentle inquiry. His partner huffs, the air leaving his lungs and tickling Kenny’s cheek as he reflexively buries his face against the skin of Kota’s throat, appreciating the reminder that this is what they **_both_ ** want.

“Yes, I am amazing,” Kenny is surprised to find that that is true. He is the happiest that he has been in a long time, despite all the drama and the heartache and the lingering issues.

He wouldn’t give this up for anything in the world.

How could he ever have thought that he wanted anything other than this?

“That’s not just me bragging about how fucking killer I am, either,” He says it with a wink, just to hear Kota struggle to hold in an indulgent chuckle.

“You’re in a weird mood. Is there anything you want? Anything I can do for you?” The concern is still there, Kenny can hear it under the amusement.

Kenny could continue to play it off like he is fine, but he learned his lessons about that shit the last time they tried this.

Hell if he’s letting things fester this time.

Kenny contemplates the inquiry for a moment, pushing aside various tempting answers, trying to determine why he wants each thing and if he wants it for an acceptable reason. They had already had their first missteps with trying to overcompensate, Kenny finds himself loath to go back to those mistakes again.

“Help me make breakfast? I want something awful and healthy, but real food. Tired of protein gruel.”

His golden star reaches up, holding one of Kenny’s hand’s palm down, pressed to Kota’s heart, Kota’s other hand finding purchase on three day old stubble. Kenny can’t move when Kota looks at him like that, and he never wants to, so he just basks in that sweet little smile, those eyes focused on him with a warmth that sinks right down into Kenny Omega’s bones.

“Alright. Did you want to train after?”

Kenny breaths in, then out, and feels a little steadier when he manages to get the words out of his mouth.

“A nap maybe? Will you lay down with me for a couple of hours? I didn’t sleep so well and I think I’d sleep better now, but-”

Kota is rolling his eyes before Kenny even gets done flushing and stumbling his way through a justification. “You don’t need to ask for that either. Of course, Kenny.”

He will never get tired of hearing Kota Ibushi say his name.

Ever.

“Also, it’s about time I introduce you to my favorite Big Match Tradition. I’m taking you to McDonald’s tonight. You can make everyone feel bad about themselves, and I can low-key brag about how out of my lane I scored.”

That gets an even more precious laugh, the sound filling Kenny up with the most gooey of emotions. He pulls back, abandoning his quest to give his lover beard burn, in favor of watching those eyes crinkle up in mirth.

“Just want me for the eye candy, I see how it is. Rude.” Kenny beams and tries to stop fidgeting, finally giving up and hoisting himself up, pulling his soulmate with him, Kota’s hand not leaving his face.

“Nope. I want _you_ because I love you. I take you **out** with me because of the eye candy and the ego boost.”

His gentle snark really gets That Face going, the one only Kenny gets out of his Ibu-tan. Fingers tangle in his resurrected Golden curls, Kota’s face lights up the room and Kenny’s shadowed heart like fireworks in a crowded intersection.

“Subtle, as usual.” There is that laugh again, and Kenny feels ten feet tall and bulletproof when he can make it happen.

Which is all the time now. If he has his way about it, it will be for the rest of their lives.

“Never been good at being subtle about you.”

**Author's Note:**

> So that was weird and I have no idea where the fuck it came from. However, at least I managed to squeeze in a line for Kota's real One True Love in there, at the end. If you don't know what I'm talking about, you need to watch more of Kota's non-NJPW matches. Be careful though, I've heard some crazy bastard watched an Ibushi match one time, and uprooted his entire life to move around the world, on the off chance that such a creature too pure for this filthy earth would give him the time of day.
> 
> Wonder whatever happened to that guy :|
> 
> Fun fact, Kenny Omega may or may not believe in ghosts. During that adorable BTE livestream, before everything went to shit (and then got really, really awesome) -you know, the one where some beautiful smark in the chat asked Omega what Ibushi smelled like (heh. Respect o7)- Omega said he was haunted one time. So yeah, I guess that maybe is where this came from? Except instead of a restless spirit, he is being haunted by his own self indulgent misery. Which I mean, welcome to the club, my man. You'd think he would be used to it by now.
> 
> Additional fun fact, I dunno if he still does it, but Omega used to go to McDonald's and eat himself to bursting after big matches. Hence, the Mickie D's line.
> 
> Also, I have no idea how to spell his little nickname for Ibushi-san. I think by now I've spelled it like four different ways? I'm not sure. Is it Bussan? Bu-san? Stop fucking mumbling, Kenny, my ignorant American ears can't hear all those lovely little nuances of your boyfriend's mother tongue XC


End file.
